


Murdering Charles Xavier.

by glanmire



Series: Erik's terrible foray into parenting. [2]
Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: BAMF!Pietro, Gen, Humour, Hurt!Erik, Post-DOFP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:11:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glanmire/pseuds/glanmire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post DOFP. </p><p>Erik gets it into his head that the only way to gain support for the mutant cause is by making Charles a martyr. Charles and the others have issues with this. </p><p>Sequel to Daddy Issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murdering Charles Xavier.

I.

It’s much harder to murder Charles than Erik had anticipated. Granted, the man is a telepath, but Erik has his helmet now, so he doesn’t expect that to be an issue. What _is_ an issue is that young students with ridiculous questions and worries and fears follow Charles around the mansion at all hours of the day, like snivelling shadows. Erik doesn’t quite feel like scarring a child for life just yet, and so decides to wait to murder Charles until Charles is alone. Except Charles is never alone. 

 

It’s _hours_ before Erik gets his chance. It’s almost midnight at this stage, and Charles is yawning as he wheels himself into his bedroom. Erik finally steps out from behind the goddamn curtain, mustering as much dignity as he can. 

“Hello Charles,” he says, pulling the gun out and levelling it towards Charles. 

Charles is still yawning, covering his pink mouth with the back of his hand. Erik waits patiently. 

“Sorry about that,” Charles says when he’s done, not sounding sorry at all. “Hello to you too Erik. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Erik waves the gun a little and Charles frowns, eyes focusing on it.  

“Oh,” he says softly, evidently caught by surprise for once. “Well, I wasn’t expecting _that._ Silly me for thinking that you’d come here for a game of chess. No, you’ve come here to murder me instead. Isn’t that just _great_.”

Erik has nothing to say to that. The bedroom door opens a notch and closes again, probably by a draught. 

“Well, did you come in through the window or have you just been lying in wait under my bed all day?” Charles asks lightly.  

“Don’t mock me Charles,” Erik warns. “This isn’t personal, okay? I don’t _want_ to kill you-”

“Then don’t,” Charles interjects, like it’s the simplest answer in the world. Erik ignores the interruption. 

“Killing you will create publicity for our cause. You’re respected, and known as a peaceful leader of mutants. They’ll listen when you’re murdered in your own home. You’ll be the martyr we need.” 

Erik actually learnt this little speech by heart the day before, just in preparation, because he hadn’t trusted himself to explain it on the spot, to explain why he needed to do this. At this point Erik had envisaged Charles to nod in understanding and to just accept this as _something that needs to be done_. Instead Charles rolls his eyes. “You can be so terribly stupid at times, my friend,” he says. 

“One mutant killing another is just murder. Exactly how do you plan on gaining followers over that?” 

“I have it arranged so they’ll blame the murder on a human.” 

“You were wrongly imprisoned for a decade, and now you’re just going to let someone else suffer the same fate on your behalf?” Charles asks sharply. 

“I thought you’d care more about your impending demise rather than who gets the credit for it,” Erik replies dryly. Something sharp pokes him in the ribs then, and he swivels around, but there’s nothing there. 

“Erik, just wondering,” Charles says after a moment, “Why can’t you kill yourself instead if this is so important to you? Aren’t you a leader of mutants too?”

“The world considers me to be a terrorist,” Erik retorts. “My death would be a victory for them, nothing more. _”_

“So you’re willing to kill me instead? I’m angry enough about that Erik, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not just me anymore. The school will close. All the children - including your own son I might add- will have to go home.” 

“Hank and Alex and the others will manage,” Erik says, his voice level. “They will want to honour your memory after all. Now, I am sorry Charles, but it’s time to do what I came here to do.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Charles says, a smile on lips. 

Erik flicks off the safety, and steps forward, and then there’s another unseen blow to his ribs, this one so forceful he staggers back.  

“I forgot to mention we’re not quite alone,” Charles says, and Erik only has time to think _shit_ before a familiar grey-haired teenager appears in front of him. 

“Hi Dad,” Pietro says, and jabs Erik in the ribs again. “So nice of you to call in like this.” 

Erik blinks and then he’s somehow thrown up against the wall, and Pietro has the gun in his hands. No more than a second can have passed. 

“Dad, seriously, why do you have to be _such_ an asshole?” Pietro asks. “You can’t just like, stroll in here and murder the Prof. What the _fuck_ is wrong with you man?” 

At Erik’s look of utter incomprehension, Charles elaborates. 

“The moment you appeared with a gun in your hand Erik, I thought it best just to call Pietro,” and Charles taps the side of his temples meaningfully, “just in case. You didn’t honestly think I’d let you just kill me, now did you?” 

Erik tries to push himself off the ground, to regain some control over a situation that has spiralled out of his control, and Pietro seems to flicker, and then Erik is shoved onto the ground again. 

“I _waited_ ,” Pietro mutters. “I waited before I burst in like a big damn hero, I made sure that you weren’t going to change your mind. But you were going to gothrough with it! What’s wrong with you?” 

There’s a vicious edge to Pietro’s voice that Erik has never heard before. The boy has always ambled along unfazed and unperturbed until now. Now, for the first time that Erik has seen, Pietro has lost his cool exterior. 

“You ruin everything you touch,” Pietro says, his voice dangerously low, and Erik doesn’t have time to brace himself before his head is flung back against the wall from the force of a punch too fast to be seen. 

“Stop that Pietro,” he says, but whatever authority he may have had over the boy seems to have been lost because Pietro is advancing on him again, fist curled. 

“I was happy here, y’know?” Pietro continues, his voice now cracking. “We were all happy here, and you were going to fuck that all up. For what dad? For a PR stunt?” 

“No,” Erik says, “No, wait, Pietro-”

He doesn’t get a chance to say more. He sees Pietro _blur_ and then Erik feels the impact of a hundred punches all over his body all at once, before he even realises he’s been hit. It’s like slamming against a body of water, the sudden shock of impact rippling through him without warning.

 

II.

 

“Pietro, stop!” 

Pietro does stop, just momentarily, and Charles feels so monumentally stupid- he’d only called Pietro as a precaution, he hadn’t foreseen the boy taking the issue to heart the way he had. He had _never_ imagined the normally-affable boy attacking Erik like this. 

“Pietro, this isn’t the answer-” Charles tries, and Pietro scoffs at him and turns back to Erik. When Pietro is at high speed Charles cannot read the boy’s thoughts or control his mind- it’s like trying to catch the wind in your fist - and so before he loses his chance, before Pietro moves again, Charles acts. 

_Stop._

Pietro freezes, still as glass. Charles can feel the thrum of the boy’s thoughts now, though they’re muted somehow, as if Charles has thrown the blanket over the bird’s cage and made it think that it’s nighttime. 

Charles had never, ever wanted to use his power to _force_ a student to do anything - that’s a dodgy path to go down- and yet he can’t allow this to happen. 

“I am so sorry Pietro,” he says, aware of how weak his apology is, but what else can he say? “But that’s enough. I will not allow you to commit patricide tonight. Leave.” 

 

When he thinks it’s safe Charles lets go of his mental grip on Pietro, and just like that Charles can hear the boy’s thoughts again at full volume. They punctuate the night air like the flurry of punches Pietro unleashed moments earlier, without reason or sense. _Ungrateful. Saved his life. Creepy as fuck. Bad as one another._

Pietro is at the door before he actually speaks out loud. “Listen Prof, I may not make it to class tomorrow, just so you’re not worried..” 

His voice is as torn as his now-bleeding knuckles, and Charles is torn too, between rolling over to his student and reassuring him, or to seeing the damage caused to Erik. 

His voice makes the choice for him.“That’s no problem Pietro, but I expect you back by teatime tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” Pietro replies, and it’s a short word but it worries Charles, worries him that Pietro really doesn’t intend on returning- 

He shoves that thought out. There are more pressing issues at hand. He wheels over the wall that Erik was thrown against like he was no more than a rag doll, a toy to be flung across the room in a tantrum. 

On inspection, Erik’s nose is broken and blood is running down his face in two thick streams. One eye is already swollen shut, and Charles fears that Erik could have any number of unseen injuries, internal bleeding, cracked rib, punctured lung, anything. Charles has always had a touch of hypochondria, and Erik is a masochist, so between them they should be able to reach some medical middle ground. His urge to swaddle Erik up in bandages and let him rest for a week is quite telling, seeing as Erik has just attempted to murder him. 

“Get up,” he says bluntly. Okay, although he’s already forgiven Erik, no need to tell _him_ that. “You need to go to the infirmary.” 

 

III.

 

Hank is asleep. He likes being asleep. You know how much energy it burns, being a colossal muscular hairy _thing_? He needs rest goddamn it, not another child whining at him. _Hank, Hank, can you walk me to the bathroom, I’m scared._

Hank is certain that every student in this mansion is like, at least over fourteen years old. There really isn’t any excuse for being afraid of the dark - or the bathroom- at that age. 

“Hank, c’mon, you gotta get up,” Pietro is saying, and Hank is steadfastly ignoring him. Surely to God Pietro doesn’t need him to accompany him to the bathroom. 

“Hank!” Pietro says again, and then suddenly all Hank’s blankets are gone and he’s painfully thankful that he decided to sleep in boxers tonight - although, with the fur, he’s not as exposed as he could have been, but still. 

“What is it?” he growls at Pietro. “You better have a good reason.”

“I think I might have killed my Dad.” 

Hank may have been a child prodigy, but at this hour it takes him a second to process that one. 

“Your dad?” he asks, and then it clicks. “Magneto. You killed Magneto.”

“Well yeah, but no,” Pietro says in that cryptic way of his. “Don’t think he’s dead, but I did hit him repeatedly, very fast. Now can you hurry up already?”  

Hank pulls on pants and a t-shirt - he doesn’t care how injured Erik is, he is not tending to anyone in boxers - and then he turns to Pietro. 

“Why did you attack him anyway?” 

“Cause he tried to murder the Prof,” Pietro says off-handedly. 

Hank feels his jaw go slack. “And you left them alone?” 

Pietro blinks. “Shit,” he says, and then he’s gone. Hank runs after him, and although he’s pretty fast these days, he’s not a touch on Pietro. Plus, he doesn’t know where he’s supposed to be running to, which is a bit annoying. 

 

IV.

 

It wasn’t like Charles could _carry_ Erik to the infirmary, not anymore, but they still managed it somehow, with Charles encouraging Erik on like a godforsaken cheerleader. 

Erik is currently lying on the medical cot, and he keeps trying to get up, insisting that he’s fine. Charles digs a finger into Erik’s ribs, and an actual, real-life moan comes from Erik. 

“See? Evidently Pietro has in fact caused some damage, so just sit down and let me fix you up, would you?” 

Erik glares back at him, and Charles knows his friend will be fine because if Erik is sulking then he’s coming back to himself. 

“Shall I call Hank? He can to tend to this _grievous_ wounds of yours better than I can,” he asks, opening up the cabinet of medical supplies. He really must remember tell the female students to stop storing their tampons in the medical cabinet - but then again, he may delegate that particular task to Hank or Alex. 

“You’ll do,” Erik says, “even if your stitches are sloppy.”

“I’m honoured Erik, truly,” Charles says sarcastically. 

“Fuck off,” Erik says back, and Charles likes to delude himself into thinking Erik meant it affectionately. “I’m not joking Charles. Call Hank and I will kill you.” 

Charles tilts his head. “Really? Because I think that we’ve both found that you areunable to do that, aren’t you Erik? Now now, no need to be embarrassed. It’s not like your truly masterful plan was foiled by a cripple and a teenager after all.” 

“Don’t call yourself a cripple Charles.”

“Well Erik, if you don’t like the word maybe you shouldn’t have deflected a bullet into my spine,”he says sharply.

Erik stares at him. “I’m leaving. This was a mistake.” 

“Nope, you’re not leaving again so fast,” Pietro says, appearing in the doorway. “And anyway, I woke up Hank just to fix you and he’ll be pissed if that was for nothing so you gotta stay put.” 

V.

 

 

Hank makes it to the infirmary - the logical destination- in record time. Erik is lying on the cot and has not murdered Charles yet, which is good. Erik has not died of his injuries either, which is not so good. 

“Balls,” Hank says to himself and Charles gives him an exasperated look. 

“Err, cotton balls. Put some cotton balls up his nostrils. It should stem the bleeding,” Hank says, gesturing to Erik’s gushing nosebleed. 

Erik frowns. “That’s not happening.” 

“Erik, for once would you just listen to reason?” Charles asks, though Hank presumes it’s rhetorical. “First though Hank, would you wash away the dried blood?” 

And so Hank finds himself holding an antiseptic wipe at midnight and scrubbing at the space between Erik’s nose and lip. After a strange moment of scrubbing ineffectively at Erik’s face, he ends up holding Magneto’s jaw with one hand to keep his head still. It’s almost like they’re going to lean in and kiss- weird- and Hank really wonders why Erik couldn’t have cleaned his own nosebleed blood off his stupid face. 

“Cracked ribs. I didn’t want him raising his arms unnecessarily,” Charles says, responding to Hank’s mental question. Erik doesn’t even bother asking what that meant, so Hank surmises that the terrorist is in quite a bit of pain after all.  

“So,” Hank says after another moment, discarding the now-red antiseptic wipe,“is anyone going to tell me what really happened here?”

Pietro is uncharacteristically grumpy, glaring at the wall and chewing on his nails. Erik looks at Hank contemptuously, as if to say _well I’m certainly not going to tell you._ Hank turns to the Prof, who looks uneasy. “Yes, well, Erik called in, and there was a minor scuffle between him and Pietro, nothing to worry about.” 

“A minor scuffle?” Erik repeats. “The kid broke my ribs!” 

Pietro is directly in front of Erik’s face before Hank can register him moving at all. “You call me ‘kid’ again and I’ll break some more ribs, got it?” 

Hank discreetly pinches the fur on the back of his neck. It hurts, which means this is real. 

“Err,” he says eloquently, “Magneto, if you really have broken your ribs I ought to wrap them.” 

Erik glares at him again and then nods in concession, as if Hank is asking him a massive favour or something. “Right,” Hank says, stalling, and then he goes for it. “Right, then, you’re going to have to take off your t-shirt.” 

There’s a moment of blissful silence and then Erik says “No.” 

“Erik, I _swear_ we won’t look,” Charles says dryly, “If that’s what you’re so worried about.” 

Erik looks highly uncomfortable - _good,_ Hank thinks, and he sees Charles smile seemingly to himself- and then Erik says, “Fine. Turn around then.”

Charles and Pietro reluctantly turn, and Hank hears Pietro mutter under his breath, “ _Jesus,_ you’d swear we’d never seen a bellybutton before.” 

 

Hank gathers up what he needs, and when he looks up he has to slam his lips shut so he doesn’t say anything. Erik’s now-bare chest is _ruined_ by scars, slashes from knives and circles heavy with scar tissue that can only be bullet holes. Hank imagines Erik pulling out bullets with his power, lips pressed thin and carrying on, so blind to his own self that he wouldn’t even consider going to a hospital, and suddenly Hank feels an unexpected stab of pity for the man. 

Erik looks at him, and for once it’s not a glare but an unidentified look that makes him seem younger, more vulnerable somehow, like there’s nothing left to hide now his scars are laid bare. Hank looks away - he always looks away first-and begins to unroll the bandages. 

Charles too is quieter than usual, and Hank remembers too late that the Prof can see this landscape of scars through Hank’s own eyes. It’s only Pietro who is oblivious, but for once Hank approves. Who needs to know that their dad has been sliced and diced like that? 

“Right,” Hank says, taping the bandage in place as quickly as he can. “That ought to do it. Coffee, anyone?” 

He barely waits for anyone to reply before he’s out the door. Hank really does want some caffeine for himself, yes, but he’s also going to call Alex. He needs the emotional support if he’s going to get through tonight unscathed. 

 

VI. 

 

“We were getting close and then you suddenly just upped and left!” Pietro shouts to Erik the second McCoy leaves the room. 

Erik looks down. “I realised it was unwise to let myself get too close to you. Considering my lifestyle, I thought it best. My inevitable death would not be such a loss to you.” 

Pietro gapes at him. “Well dumbass, you could have just told me that. Or I dunno, you could have stopped being a terrorist if even you openly acknowledge that it’s going to get you killed!”

Erik shakes his head. “It’s not as easy as that.” 

“Yes. Yes it goddamn is, and you know it, but you’re so scared that it’s too late now to turn back. You’re scared to admit you were wrong, so you’re going ahead with it anyway. Swallow your goddamn pride dad. Stop dicking around with all of our lives.” 

Erik is saved by the reappearance of Hank, with a surly looking Alex following close behind. The two are never apart for long. 

“How are you doing Magneto?” Hank asks, eyes flitting across the room, obviously gauging the atmosphere and making an inelegant attempt to diffuse it. “I can get some aspirin for you if you’re in pain?”

“I don’t take painkillers,” Erik replies. He doesn’t think it’s right, just opting out of feeling pain. That’s the first step towards being afraid of pain, and the man who is afraid of pain is afraid to fight. 

“This is exactly what I’m talking about!” Pietro exclaims. “Do you think you’re like superior because you grit your teeth and become a cranky bitch instead of just taking painkillers like everyone else?” 

Erik really doesn’t think this is about the painkillers anymore, but he concedes anyway, in hopes it will calm Pietro down a notch. 

“Fine, I’ll take it if it makes you happy.”

Pietro disappears and is back in a moment, aspirin and a glass of water in his hand. He seems more relaxed again. The boy is ridiculously changeable. 

“Look dad, sorry for cracking your ribs and all,” he says, nudging the ground with the tip of his sneaker. 

“It’s fine,” Erik says dryly. Charles glares at him and he clears his throat. “Alright, I apologise as well. I shouldn’t have left and not contacted you.”

Pietro tilts his head. “And..?” 

“And what?” 

“You tried to kill the Prof!”

Erik blinks. That seemed like a lifetime ago. “Well fine, I apologise for attempting to murder Charles. I solemnly swear that it won’t happen again.”

“Yes, well, I think that’s enough entertainment for one night,” Charles says, dodging the issue of whether he accepts the apology. “Boys, if you could give us a minute.” 

Alex scowls at the phrase ‘boys’ but Hank seems to get the hint and clasps a blue paw onto Pietro’s shoulder. “C’mon. I’d say you deserve a beer tonight.” 

They file out of the room and Erik lets out a long breath of relief. 

 

VII.

 

They end up having several beers. It somehow seems appropriate. Pietro had admitted to drinking underage for years anyway, so Hank doesn’t feel too guilty. 

“I swear I’m a total pacifist normally, but like, sometimes you just have to hit someone,” Pietro says after a while. “I just didn’t mean to hit him quite so hard, y’know?”

Alex is absentmindedly flicking the caps of beer bottles into the air and shooting them down with his lasers and doesn’t seem to be listening. 

It’s up to Hank to respond - it’s always up to Hank. 

“Look Pietro, I used to change into a blue monster when I got riled up, and Alex is notoriously cranky.”  
“Oi,” Alex says, and chucks a beer cap at him. 

“Case in point,” Hank continues. “But Pietro, the problem is, when you hit someone, they don’t have time to react or move away or whatever. And you hit them so fast it’s tough on their bodies.” 

“Yeah, I know, I should totally be a boxer,” Pietro says wistfully, missing the pointentirely. 

“Yeah,” Hank agrees, and takes another swig of his beer. He’s too tired to get into the ethics of it. That’s supposed to be Charles’ forte after all. Hank’s opinion was that Pietro should hit Erik if he wanted to hit Erik. Erik did deserve a good punch every now and then, and Pietro was possibly the only person on the planet who could hit him and wouldn’t die a gruesome metal-related death soon after. 

 

 

VIII.

 

“I didn’t know the boy was here,” Erik is saying, somewhat guiltily. 

“Would you have acted differently if you had?” Charles shoots back. “It’s just, Erik, you’re all over the place.” 

“I am in control of my life Charles,” Erik says, his voice growing sharp. 

“You almost became a murderer tonight!” Charles exclaims. 

Erik looks at him pointedly and Charles sighs. 

“ _Fine_ , maybe you have killed already, but still, presumably always in self-defence-” 

Erik keeps staring at him, a hint of a condescending smile at his lips.  
“Cold murder?” Charles asks, and of course he remembers Shaw but even in Charles’ ethical mind that seemed justified. He doesn’t like thinking that there are others, whose deaths are less justified, who have fallen prey to Erik’s moods. 

“Well, that’s it then. Erik, if you intend to be play a role in Pietro’s life, then no more murder. He nearly killed you tonight Erik - that’s the kind of example you’re giving, and you directly created a situation which he felt he needed to do that. It’s not acceptable. I can’t have students running around causing grievous bodily harm and being forgiven so easily.” 

“Charles, you’re making this out to be a custody battle.”

Charles hears his own voice grow dangerous. “Isn’t it? This is my house Erik, my school. If you want Pietro to continue attending, then you will not publicly murder anyone, or threaten to harm anyone affiliated with this school. If not, you will not be permitted to visit Pietro.”

“What makes you think I care?” 

“Stop fucking around Erik, everyone knows you care about the kid, as much as your twisted heart is capable. Deal or not?” 

Erik sighs. He’s been doing that a lot tonight. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, but this time seems a lot more sincere than the earlier one. 

“I just- I don’t want him to hate me Charles.” 

Charles sighs too. “He doesn’t hate you, not yet anyway, although you seem to be doing absolutely everything to make him do so. Just relax, would you?”

Erik grits his teeth. “That’s not one of my strong suits,” he admits, and it’s truly ridiculous, it really is, but Charles has already forgiven him for tonight’s fiasco. Erik and Pietro are far more alike than they like to admit, and they both throw fits when they’re scared. And although Erik may jump headfirst into a battle and get shot without flinching, he’s scared of losing a son he never had, and Pietro is scared of losing the dad he never had. It’s a mess alright, but nothing that can’t be fixed. 

“His birthday is next week you know,” Charles says after a moment. “I recommend you buy him something good.” 

Erik crinkles his face up like he does when he’s thinking. “Does he like chess?” he asks hopefully after a moment. 

“He hates it,” Charles admits. “He thinks it’s too slow.” 

Erik’s face falls and Charles can’t help but smile. He clasps Erik on the back - though gently, Erik still is hurt after all. “It’s okay. We have a week, we’ll figure something out.” 

Erik doesn’t protest at the ‘we’, and that, more than anything, gives Charles hope. 

 

 


End file.
